


Ghost of a Good Thing

by starspatter



Series: Broken Bird [6]
Category: Batman Beyond, Batman Beyond 2.0 (Comics), Batman: The Animated Series, Batman: The Killing Joke (2016)
Genre: Batman Beyond: Return of the Joker - Freeform, F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-25
Updated: 2016-12-25
Packaged: 2018-09-11 22:23:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,597
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9037193
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starspatter/pseuds/starspatter
Summary: "Maybe it's love, but it's like you said: Love is like a role that we play."





	

**Author's Note:**

> Merry Christmas, everyone! Here's some BruceBabs angst nobody asked for. *shot*
> 
> This was loosely inspired by a short fic by The-Shepard's-Daughter on ff.net (https://www.fanfiction.net/s/11679225/12/The-War-Goes-On). (I highly recommend you go and read her stuff, it's really great.) May contain slight spoilers for this one though, in terms of a particular character reveal...
> 
> I wasn't originally planning to write an RotJ-related fic specifically from Barbara's POV, but the above got me thinking about her relationship with Bruce, so I went back and reread the Batman Adventures (the 17-issue final installment of the BTAS tie-in comics) as a result. In the process I realized just how much Bruce's love life pretty much *sucked*, and it... sorta started making a bit of sense why he might've fallen for Barbara in a strange way. o.o; At least in the DCAU-verse, at the time leading right up to RotJ... So... This happened. ^^; It became an interesting exploration of how both characters try to justify the relationship to themselves (as well as an explanation to satisfy my own skepticism XP).
> 
> While this takes place solely in the DCAU-verse, it also references The Killing Joke's animated adaptation. (Yes, *that*.) Title and summary are from the song "Ghost of a Good Thing" by Dashboard Confessional.

It was just sex.

So Barbara Gordon kept telling herself in the mirror the morning after.  Just a wild night of long-festering fantasy fulfilled, fueled by _hot_ , intense, unbridled passion; drunk on post-punching adrenaline and the euphoric high from flying over rooftops together – that piled up into a mess of mistakes followed by numerous regrets – by both parties.

It didn’t have to mean anything.  She didn’t care.  He didn’t care.

…At least she thought he didn’t.

…That is, until he called her – and asked if she’d like to go out tonight.  No mask, no cape.  Just them at a restaurant with dinner and a bottle of wine.

It’s like a dream.

(In fact she pinches herself, just to be sure.)

When the pain subsides, she says yes.

…There really was no going back to the way things were before.

-

Tim’s been avoiding her lately.

She senses him averting his eyes whenever they’re in the same room, pretending to be absorbed in his comic book or video game.  When they’re on the job together (which is rare nowadays, and she’s not sure if that’s his doing or hers or a combination of both), he’s oddly brisk and business-like for a boy his age, almost as sternly serious as Bruce himself.

She wonders if he knows.

She thinks he does.

He’s always been a smart kid.  Strangely (hell, almost scarily) perceptive despite his youth.  Born with the makings to be a great detective, given the right direction.  Must be why Bruce “chose” him.

…Except now, he’d chosen her.  And she could tell Tim was hurt by it.  As well as confused by all these sudden feelings arising between people he considered close as “family”.  (But then, so was she.)

Her own qualms are confirmed when once, they were all down in the cave, and Bruce was poring over a case at the computer while Tim trained in the background.  She handed her weary-looking… mentor? partner? boyfriend? a cup of coffee to wake and warm his spirit – and perceived a piercing prick of cold chill creeping down her spine despite the heat of the mug in her glove, green-eyed glance boring into her back.  She whirls around, but the jealous juvenile had already (seemingly) returned attention to the target range.

The sharp _*whack*_ of a Batarang deeply penetrating wood feels as if it’s stabbing into her own heart though.  Making tacit disapproval known through passive-aggressive – _petty_ – announcement, how much it made his stomach sick.

…She wonders if he’s going to tell Dick.

-

On the streets, it was like ballet.  Swinging freely with her sole “dance partner” between buildings and fists at criminals, savoring the sugarplum rush of exhilaration, all the thrill and danger and suspense of it all – yet peaceful in the protected knowledge of trusting someone to always have her back, catch her when she falls.  Surrendering herself to a safety net.

She remembers, it was like this with Dick too.  (Only she didn’t know it was _him_ back then.)

Outside the costumes though – bodies (but not souls) laid bare backstage – there’s still a gap of distance between them.  Dancing on tiptoe around each other instead.  And as much as she tries to broach the bridge, the gulf only seems to keep widening.  Like she’s standing at the edge of an endless chasm, staring deep into darkness.  The brink of the so-called “abyss” he keeps warning her about.

She wants to help pull him out, but he won’t let her.

-

It all happens so fast.

The one who sinks into the abyss first wasn’t either of them, but the one _least_ expected.  …Whom she’d never _envisioned_ could possibly wield a gun, let alone pull the trigger on someone.

But then, she’d never pictured him with clown makeup either.

She holds him in her arms as he cries for what feels like hours, cradling his whimpering crown close and whispering “It’s okay” over and over again, when really it’s not.

He’s just a child.

A small, sobbing, shaking – _shattered_ – child.

And a week later, Dick – _God, Dick_ – she thinks as he walks in through the library door and immediately embraces her, soothing her back as she breaks down into bawls like a child herself, smothering sniffles into his broad chest and shoulders.  Letting it all out – the guilt and the grief and _giving up_ – on everything she once believed in.

…Including Bruce.

Dick nods, understands, draws her in towards him.  And assures her: “It’s okay.”

He rolls right back into her life, and it’s like he never left.  She’s grateful, for him _being there_.  …In a way Bruce never could (bring himself to), no matter how much either of them might’ve desired it.

…Then, just like that, he’s gone again.

And so is her – _Bruce’s_ – child.

Both of them.

-

She sets a new goal for herself, throws herself into studies and exams and exercise in an effort to distract.  So much that her friends (that’s right, she had “friends” outside of the vigilante life; she’d almost forgotten) begin to worry.

They arbitrarily invite her out on a boat cruise, saying she needs to get out, have some fun, live a little.  Although she attempts to refuse, Dad insists on her going, even going so far as to pack her suitcase for her.  (…Complete with a rather _revealing_ swimsuit set.  Honestly, just what was the old man thinking?)

So that’s how she finds herself stuck out on a liner in the middle of the ocean, watching the tranquil waves ebb and flow – and half-debating what it might be like to hurl herself into their depths and drown.

She fishes in her pocket, retrieves a pair of photographs.  One was of her and Dick, when they were dating back in college.   …The other featured Bruce by her side, arm wrapped affectionately around her as they coincidentally sailed on another ship, seagulls soaring behind them through the sky.  The two of them had snuck out on the Wayne private yacht, having resorted to such subtle tactics in order to achieve some “alone time” – away from the prying eyes and greedy talons of tabloid reporters – voyeur vultures – ever since someone snapped a pic of them together in public and it made its way to the papers’ celebrity gossip columns, resulting rumors of Gotham’s resident playboy billionaire’s relationship with the Commissioner’s daughter spreading like wildfire.

“Mind if I join you?”

Barbara startles at the husk of a woman’s voice, speaking suddenly with a slight drawl, as the owner draws up casually right beside her.  She swivels to take in the insinuator’s appearance, surprised that someone could still sneak up on her like that – someone besides Bruce anyway.

The first thing that catches her eye is the trail of scarlet tresses curling around the stranger’s shoulders, a dead ringer for her own red ringlets.  …Curiously, she’s garbed in a darkened veil to shroud her visage, as if in mourning at a funeral.  Watching the vessel’s dying wake with what appear to be clear-cut, crystal blue irises – again, strikingly reflecting hers and the water – albeit half-hidden by the shade.

“Forgive me.  You just happened to look a little lost, dear.”

She smiles, matching ruby lipstick spanning thin.  Despite the obscuring mask and makeup, Barbara distinguishes several wrinkles surrounding the other female’s features, and realizes she must be older than her by quite a few years – although still a stunning beauty by anyone’s standards.  She can’t help but feel a twinge of envy in her gut; wistfully wondering if _she’ll_ be able to boast of looking that good at that age.

“I was just… reminiscing.”

Barbara murmurs in response as she restores her gaze to the reminders in hand.

“Good or bad reminiscing?”

“Both, I guess.”

The elder’s eyes flick down to the photos as well, tracing her perspective.

“An ex, I presume?”

“Two of them,” Barbara smirks sardonically in acknowledgment.

“…At once?”        

Her appraiser raises an amused eyebrow, mocking mildly.

“ _Heavens_ no.”  Barbara scoffs in indignation, before lowering a little onto the railing.  “…Although Dick didn’t really see it that way.”

“‘Dick’ would be this strapping young fellow?”  The lady leans over to peer nosily at the pictures.  Her pupils widen briefly at the second as her breath becomes a hush: “And the other is… Bruce Wayne, isn’t it?”

“Pretty recognizable, huh?”

Barbara sighs as she rubs a finger over the still footage.

“You must think I’m a fool, another one of the infamous ‘playboy Wayne’s’ jilted lovers.  That I should’ve _known_ what I was getting into.”

She sniffs in preemptive accusation, regardless of whether the woman’s opinion actually agreed or not.

“I didn’t say anything.”

Said assessor delicately clears her throat at the overly hasty defense.

“Well, you’re wrong,” the wary suspect carries on spitefully, not caring about cutting off the other’s speech.  “What we had was _special_.  I _understood_ him, in a way no one else could have.”

Realizing how cliché the line she just spouted sounded, she exhales again.

“I know it seems like I’m just making up excuses, but it’s the truth.  We had a sort of… work relationship.  Which… sounds even worse now that I say it out loud like that.”  Barbara winces, finding herself unable to stop babbling as she embarrassingly tries to cover up her tracks, only instead consequently digging an even deeper hole for herself.  “What I mean is, I _saw_ a side of him he’d never normally show to anyone else.  I _knew_ Bruce, behind the scenes.”  A faint fondness forms at the corners of her mouth.  “Underneath all the aloofness and pompous exterior, he really was a great man, with a good heart.”   _They all were._  “Dedicated to helping the city as much as he could, no matter _how much_ it cost him.”

Her silent judge listens quietly, before shifting her own vision over the vast expanse of sparkling cerulean again, scanning the horizon.

“…He was, wasn’t he.”

Barbara blinks, looks at her companion in confusion.

“You knew him?”

The woman chuckles.

“You’re not the only gal who thought she could get close to the elusive ‘real Bruce Wayne’.”  She casts a longing look back in the direction of the fading shoreline.  “Gotham’s changed quite a lot since the last time I was here.  I… thought about paying him another visit before I left, just to let him know that…”

She falters, seeming unsure as to what “that” actually entailed, and chews her lip, eventually shaking her head.

“But… We’ve both also changed so much since then.  It didn’t seem right.  Especially now.”

Barbara tracks her sightline to the coast, observing the far layer of marine fog settling around the cliffside, where the shadowy speck of Wayne Manor stood overlooking their voyage from the highest hillcrest…

“The more things change, the more they stay the same.”

“Pardon?”

“Sorry.  Just something someone I know used to say.”

Barbara regards the remembrances in her hand again, running along the gray depiction of her and Grayson.  Admiring the cocky, confident grin that was so different from Bruce’s typically stoic expression (even the rare smile he sported in their shared moment together seemed stiff and awkward in comparison), yet at the same time ruminating on similarities between them that went well beyond the physical.

“In the end, maybe that’s why I could never _really_ get through to him.  To either of them.  The thing that drives them, motivated them to _become_ who they are – I could never change that.  I… got into this risky business endeavor with them because of my father, in order to clear his name – we were all part of the same team, for a while – but I never experienced the kind of _loss_ they did.  I mean, my mom died when I was at a young age, but it was in an accident…”

Even as she recites it, Barbara wonders if what she’s saying would even make any sense to an uninvolved outsider, or worse – whether it’s disclosing too much.

“Sorry, I don’t mean to use you as a drama soapbox.  I’ve just been dumping my whole life story on you, haven’t I?”

She laughs hollowly, but the other’s smile softens.

“It’s all right, dear.  You remind me a lot of myself when I was your age, actually.”

Her hand grips on the rail.

“I too entered into my current occupation because of an injustice done to my father.  I lost my mother to an illness when I was young as well.  Although… Some might call it crazy, but I often make believe she’s still here, like her spirit’s watching over me.”  It’s her turn to smile sheepishly, self-conscious over her own clinginess to the past.  “I can just imagine the kinds of things she’d say, in any situation, you know?  Like right now, she told me I’d better go up and approach you, else the poor thing looks like she’s about to jump off the side of the boat.”

Barbara flinches at the accuracy of the statement.

“Your mother’s frighteningly observant.”

The woman looks down at her toes.

“To be honest, I rather doubt she’d approve of what I’m doing now with my life.  But,” she respires heavily in resignation, “There’s no turning back at this point.”

Barbara scrutinizes the other’s hunched shoulders, now the one empathetic but afraid to probe further.  Something in her sensed the woman didn’t wish to talk about it, so she continues on instead.

“I ended up deciding to quit my old job about a year ago, due to an… ‘incident’ at the workplace.  After that, it became too difficult to be around Bruce anymore, let alone having him as my ‘boss’.”  She snorts with sarcasm.  “Hell, I started even questioning everything I had been _doing_ up to that point.  …Besides,” she adds sullenly, “It never felt like I really ‘fit in’ with them anyway.  Like I had thrown the guy a curveball, as if he never knew what to do with me…”

“Because you weren’t part of the ‘Plan’?”

“Y- yeah.”  Barbara blinks again at the apt metaphor, mysteriously insightful.  “…I guess you could say that.”

The woman nods sagely in sympathy.

“I’ve been in your shoes before, believe me.  Twice now I’ve come into the man’s life and screwed it all up.  I figured a third time would just be _asking_ for trouble.”

Barbara nips her lip as she looks back on her own insolent intrusion.

“I mean, it’s practically _my_ fault those two ended up terminating their partnership – they used to be really close business associates _long_ before I ever came into the picture.  …Now they’ve cut ties entirely because of me.  And – and there’s this young intern – whom I was supposed to be supervising – but I screwed up in that department too, and so he made _one crucial mistake_ that ended up costing him his whole future _career_ – all because I wasn’t watching him.  I ruined _any_ chance he had of ever achieving success in that field, just because of some _stupid_ , selfish affair…”

Tears manifest at the corners of her eyes as she clutches the camera prints.  Two diamond drops descend simultaneously, staining each snapshot.

The other tentatively reaches over to reassure her wrist.

“You can’t lay all the blame upon yourself, hon.”

Barbara takes a deep breath, composing herself as she wipes at her face with her sleeve to dry it, daubing dew.

“I just… wanted to be a part of what they were doing.  Feel like I _belonged_ somewhere, you know?  Like I was making a real difference.  Doing something good.  Something _right_.”

The clasp on her palm tightens.

“I’m hardly the person to tell you what’s right and what’s wrong, but… Trust me when I say this: You’ve done a lot more than I could’ve ever done – for Bruce and for this city.  And… It doesn’t take a tragedy to make what you do have meaning – or to undermine the significance of what you’ve accomplished.  Believe me, that ‘loss’ you spoke of: It’s not something you ever want to face.  That kind of thing changes a person, and it’s not something you can easily come back from.”

Barbara slowly revolves her head, squints through the secretive screen, past the concealing cover and cosmetics.  There’s something about her image that feels familiar, forlorn.  But the flash of recognition is fleeting, as the alert subject detects danger, so she hastily liberates and pats her shoulder in fleeing farewell.

“You’ll be all right, dear.  There are other ways to do good in this world.  …Better than mine anyway.  But,” she mutters darkly under her breath, “this is the path I’ve chosen.  And _someone_ needs to go where he can’t.  Or else _more_ innocent people will end up paying the price.”

With that, she abruptly turns her back, quickening across the deck.  Barbara calls out to her though:

“Wait, hold on!  How do you know so much?  Just who _are_ you?”

The enigma’s heels halt, rotate gradually to reveal a somewhat sad, yet gentle side-smile.

“A ghost.”

At that instant, a convenient spray of sea foam splashes onto the surface of the craft, causing Barbara to be temporarily blindsided.  Although it’s little more than a light shower, the glittering drizzle of distraction makes her lose sight of the target, and when she looks back beneath her sprinkle-saturated sleeve the woman is gone – like a phantom.

…She muses if this is how Dad must have often felt.

-

She found it in Bruce’s bedroom.  She hadn’t meant to pry, but the temptation was just too strong as she curiously clicked open the circular locket’s clasp, its ornately embellished heart of gold practically _goading_ her to take but a brief peek.

The old, black-and-white portrait within portrayed a clearly young Bruce Wayne, along with a gorgeous-looking woman Barbara had never seen before, draped lovingly around his breast.  Their intimate poses rather resembled the framed memento she had discovered still stowed away within a box in Dick’s loft, shortly per his post-return to Gotham after a year of “globetrotting”, wrenching her own chest.

She only caught a quick glimpse before she became aware of a betrayed Bruce behind her back, moonlit silhouette looming ominously over her.  She hurriedly shut the keepsake and spun around, gulping nervously under his scowling glower, still forebodingly commanding even without a cowl.

“Sorry, I wasn’t trying to snoop or anything, I just…”

Bruce said nothing, merely held out his paw in harsh demand, and meekly she deposited the chain into it; brushing the rough hide that had not so long ago been stroking her strewn hair on the pillow and flushing, sweat-soaked skin – hungry for flesh yet quivering excitedly with a mix of fear and anticipation, burning and yearning on forbidden contact – with such tenderness she hadn’t thought him capable of.

…Barbara didn’t like not being in control, being made to feel like a cowed little girl, as if she’d committed a small-time crime such as stealing cookies from a jar, yet was being crucified for it – like investigating the accessory had made her the equivalent of accessory to _murder_.  Guilty hands branded as red as her head.  She wanted to show him, that she could be trusted – with _all_ his secrets.  That she wasn’t intimidated by the big, scary _Batman_.  Whatever darkness or demons or “other dames” in his past, she could and _would_ accept it.

“Sooo, who’s the mystery gal?” she jabbed with mock jealousy as she began counting off her fingers.  “I know about Zatanna, Selina, Talia, Lois – among various others.”  She grinned good-naturedly, making an obvious show of not letting it bother her.  “I’ve never heard of this one though.  You’ve been holding out on me, you big lug.”

She jokingly thumped his muscle for extra emphasis, but he only grunted, snapping bluntly in reserved retort:

“None of your business.”

“Oh _come on_ ,” she coaxed, ignoring curtness as she wrapped her limbs teasingly around his waist.  “You can tell me, I promise I won’t mind.  Who is she?”

Bruce simply shrugged her off, stalking away towards the bed as he descended upon the mattress, opening the pendant to pensively examine the piece.

“…Someone who looked too long into the abyss.”

He lamented at last, shoulders sagging.

That’s when Barbara realized.  The way he looked at the woman in the adornment – aching _profoundly_ with adoration (and apology) – wasn’t the same way he looked at her, or perhaps any woman since.  It was a look similar to the one he gave to the paintings of his parents in the halls, to people considered dead in his heart (but forever preserved in memory), even if not necessarily on the physical plane.

She clenched her knuckles, knowing now that no matter what, she could never compete with that kind of sentimental value.  …Not of “love” alone, per se – but the remorse over not being able to _save_ someone close to him.  Of letting someone else down.  …Of letting another person _in_ , only leading ultimately to destruction and miserable _disappointment_ in the end.

“I… should probably get going,” she mumbled defeatedly, tucking a strand behind her ear.  “Busy day ahead tomorrow.”

Bruce simply nodded, as she swiftly got dressed and gathered up her things, seeing herself out as she bid a brusque goodbye to Alfred.  …Back at her apartment, she flopped face-first onto the bedding as she wept softly, burying her own frustration and shame into blanket sheets.

…At length, she flipped over and contemplated the ceiling, as another idle thought slipped into her consciousness before finally falling asleep (for the few remaining hours left before sunrise):

Did she ever look at Bruce the same way she did with Dick?

-

“What am I even _doing_ , Alfred?”

Bruce sat with his forehead propped against his steepled fingers in the den, nursing tired temple to temple.  Alfred cocked a brow as he calmly poured a cup of tea before his brooding employer.

“I daresay I haven’t the foggiest, Master Bruce.”

He stirred an additional lump of sugar into the beverage, before setting the steaming saucer down on the table in front of the couch.  But the moping man didn’t even stir, disturbed not from his cloud of internal conflict.

“Dick’s going to _hate_ me when he finds out about this.”  He respired as he ran a hand through his hair, slumping back into the chair.  “What on earth possessed me to think this was even _remotely_ okay?”

“If I may, sir, why don’t you just end it gracefully now, before things get too far out of hand?  I fear the both of you may be setting yourselves up for a catastrophe, should you carry on like this…”

Bruce shook his head as he rose up from the sofa, striding over to the glass cabinets containing some of his parents’ most prized material possessions (not to mention _fragile_ , hence keeping them safely locked away out of any rowdy Robin’s reach); a delicate display case full of priceless porcelain and tenuous trinkets (not unlike the trophy room in the basement) – including a neat assembly of his mother’s most extravagant jewelry, tidily well-kept and dusted daily by its dutiful caretaker, maintaining their luster so that they shone as bright and brilliant as always.

…There was one significant item missing from its place though.  Of all the lavish and dazzling gemstones, he recalled her favorite had always been a simple silver pin in the shape of an angel – her “guardian angel”, which her husband had purchased for her as a surprise (second) present the day their son was born.

_“You really like that one, don’t you, Bruce?”_

_“It’s pretty, Momma.”_

_“Well, why don’t I save it for you?  And one day, you can give it to the woman you love.”_

He had nearly given the gift away not too long ago, to a woman he’d been successfully dating for six months.  And for him that was, well… a record.  Yet, for all the time he’d spent with Julie, not even his detective skills had picked up on the fact that she was only after his money – and was willing to go to such great lengths to hide her past with Penguin in order to attain her objective, by ordering an assassin hit on the newly elected “mayor” of Gotham.

As much as he would’ve liked to see the fraud fowl booted out of office, paying for one’s crimes in blood was not a solution he would condone (let alone over a private love affair to prevent public scandal).  As he told the president of Reid Pharmaceuticals – one of his father’s closest friends and a good man – who offered a reward for Joker’s head on a platter in exchange for the madman having taken his son’s life – he wouldn’t allow him to _buy_ a murder.  If he wanted it done, he’d have to kill the Joker himself.

_“But before you do…_

_Ask yourself what you really want…_

_And if this is going to do any good…”_

Nightwing had called him out afterwards for taking such an unnecessary risk, believing that Reid would do the right thing.  But he had faith in Gotham, just as Gotham – and his old partner (his _own_ first _“son”_ ) – still had faith in him.

_“You’re too trusting, Batman.  People are capable of anything.”_

Incidentally, the cherished cherub charm had ended up going instead to another one of his father’s colleagues: Dr. Leslie Thompkins, in thanks for her assistance during the Black Mask infiltration.  …And for being there, like a mother – to all of them – after his parents’ death.

As he reviewed the nostalgic collection though, he recollected it wasn’t the first time he had intended to bestow the blessed brooch upon his “bride-to-be”.  There was another woman before who’d captivated – _captured_ his heart – the closest he’d come to marrying and settling down with (besides the deceitful plant-woman Ivy had used to seduce him, whom he purposely preferred not to count) – and subsequently almost abandoned the mantle.  But she too turned out to be wearing a façade, whose own heart became blackened with despair, building a bitter thirst for ice-served vengeance so severe that she would dare bloody her own hands…

He played with the weight of metal in his pocket, mulling over the medallion’s original mistress as he momentarily visualized himself aiding her to put it on, along with the absent token from behind the mirror – before pushing the illusion aside.  She was an angel all right – but as she self-proclaimed the last time they met (each behind their own respective masquerades), one of “death”.

Instead he focuses on the recent present over the past.  After Julie had come Charlotte – a woman he’d saved from a fire at a club (where she worked as a waitress for bare minimum wages, making just enough to scrape by, struggling as a single mother to raise and support her child) – that _he_ himself had helped set light to as part of his plan to gain favor with Black Mask’s crew as “Matches Malone”.  As personal penance, he’d helped get her a new job at Wayne Enterprises through his underground “connections”.  He still saw her sometimes at work, passing each other in the hallways with no more than a polite but professional smile.

She had called Matches her “hero” though – not Batman, nor Bruce Wayne.  Shown up out of the blue at the rundown hole in Park Row (a.k.a. “Crime Alley”) he’d been using as a hideout, wanted to take him out to dinner to thank him for rescuing her – and her daughter by proxy.  One thing led to another, and soon they were seeing each other regularly – all while he kept climbing the ranks within Black Mask’s organized gang.  When she found out about his “involvement” with one of Gotham’s worst crime bosses (never realizing that she was in fact confronting her _own_ boss’s “false face”), she’d been utterly crushed.  Her brokenhearted figure, fallen to her knees in shock and sorrow, burned into his brain as he was forced to leave her behind in the bedlam, in order to go change into his _other_ outfit.

_“I thought you were one of the **good guys**.”_

He wonders, if he had met her under different circumstances – not as any one of his alternate “personas” – if things would’ve turned out differently between them.  Would they still be together?  Would she have wed him – not for his wealth, but because he really _was_ the “good guy” she saw him as?  Might he at this minute be welcoming her and cute little Jenna into his home, adopted the sweet lass as his own – given Dick and Tim a “younger sister” to look after (as well as potential _new_ siblings to look forward to)?

“…Sir?”

Alfred prompted with a cough, sensing the manor’s master lost in his reverie.  Bruce breathed out, reluctantly resuming the conversation.

“You don’t _understand_ , Alfred.  Being with Barbara, it’s just… _so easy_.  For the first time, it feels like I don’t have to _hide_ who I really am.”

“Ms. Gordon isn’t the only lady to be privy to your identity, Master Bruce, nor is she the first.  Why, as I believe I mentioned before, I was rather fond of Ms. Lane…”

“It’s not the same,” Bruce argued, almost desperately.  “She goes where I go, no questions needed or asked.  It’s such a _relief_ , to not be constantly looking over my shoulder – except for the damn paparazzi – to have to come up with _explanations_ for every little thing.  And… I can always count on her to have my back.  I know, she’d give her _life_ for me in a heartbeat, and I’d do the same.”

“Well, what about Ms. Prince?  Forgive my forwardness, but from what I’ve witnessed – as but a mere ‘bystander’, of course – couldn’t the same be said of the dynamic between the two of you?”

The host of the house cringed as his “hired help” boldly addressed the star-spangled elephant in the room.

“…I don’t want to ruin the friendship I have with Diana.”

“Oh, but it is quite all right if you wind up breaking _Ms. Gordon’s_ heart?”  His reprimander tutted tersely.  “To say nothing of _Master Grayson’s_?”

Bruce grimaced again, declining forward as he rested his forearm on the shelf, beating his frazzled frons against it.

“I don’t know, Alfred.  I just… don’t know.”

He does know though.  That he _trusts_ Barbara with all _his_ heart, perhaps more than anyone he’s trusted before – save for Alfred, Leslie, Dick, and Tim.  He knew on that night four years ago, when he put a man’s life in her hands in a pure leap of _faith_ , relinquished _control_ over the situation to someone _else_ for once.  Let _go_ – of a criminal off the side of the roof to keep the man’s brother from _choking_ him to death, believing in Batgirl at her pledging behest, that she’d _catch_ him.   Released his hold on the reins – to someone whose capabilities he didn’t even _know_ – not to the degree of Nightwing or Robin, whose every move he instilled down to the _bone_.  …And maybe that’s what scared him most of all.

He trusted Barbara. …But not enough to tell her yet.

Perhaps, that was why whenever they were together, it still felt like they were playing pretend.  As if there were really no difference between the “simulated dates” they went on whenever he required a diversion (fortunately having a female on hand often proved the most effective tactic to fool their enemies).  “Acting” as lovers undercover and under covers…

Just then, their discussion was interrupted by the phone ringing.  Perplexed as to who could be calling at _this_ ungodly hour, the bewildered butler went to answer it.  After greeting as graciously enough as the occasion warranted, his eyes expanded upon hearing the reply on the other end.  Uncertain, he twisted to extend the receiver to the suspicious spectator.

“It’s… Ms. Beaumont on the line, sir.  She wishes to speak with you.”

Bruce’s jaw set in a firm line.

“I have nothing to say to her.”

“Sir, perhaps if you gave her another chance…”

His frown only hardened as he glared at the glass, and the strand of perfect pearls exhibited most prominently behind it – each precious bead painstakingly picked up, thoroughly washed – _cleansed_ – and reassembled from the alley.  …At least as many as his tiny, trembling hands could recover from the growing pools of blood, before they could roll away and escape into the rain-trenched gutter.  He closes his eyes, conjures up the outline of the gun’s barrel in his mind, pointing straight at his parents’ apparitions as he hears the bullet smash through the pane – screaming echoes of terror and _pain_ resounding in his ears.

Opening his lids, he levered off the dresser as he headed determinedly up the steps to the second floor (where a short shadow quickly whisked away from the top of the banister, racing to get back to bed before being seen).

“She’s a killer, Alfred.  Killers don’t _deserve_ a second chance.”

-

“Babs, girl, we are literally in a veritable _sea_ of hot guys – and you’re telling me _none_ of them catches your eye?”

“Reece, leave her alone…”

“No way, Colle.  We came _all the way_ out here to spend a week in paradise, I’m _not_ going back until I get my girlfriend some action.   …How about that one?  He’s cute – tall, dark, handsome – plus he looks like a pretty _bad_ boy.  Just your type~”

Barbara barely even bothers to remove her concentration from the page she’s on, paying no heed to the posing “hunk” he was pointing at by the poolside.

“Really, I’m good, Reece.  I’d just like to read my book in peace, if you don’t mind.”

“Honey, all you’ve _done_ since we got on this cruise is lock yourself in your room and read.  At least come take a dip with us.  Where’s your swimsuit?  Come on,” he winks, “ _work_ that sexy bookworm body for me, girl.”

“Thanks, but I’ll pass.”

Reece sighs as he sits down on the lounger next to her.

“Sweetie, you’ve been acting like this for almost a year now.  Ever since you and that Bruce Wayne guy broke up, you’ve been moping around like someone _died_ or something.  It’s time to move on, get on with your life, get back in the game.  I know he was a _billionaire_ and all, but there are bigger, better fish out there.”

Barbara bristles behind her book, biting her tongue.

“There was more to it than that.”

“Even so, you can’t stay hung up on the same guy forever.  At this rate, you’re gonna end up a lonely old spinster – like one of those crazy cat ladies you see on T.V., but with books.”

“What Reece is _trying_ to say,” Colleen cuts in, “is that we’re worried about you.  Just come have some fun with us, it’ll help take your mind off things.”

Barbara shakes her head, irritably shutting her text as she stands up and starts to depart.

“Where are you going?”

“To do some yoga.”

She barks back, feeling bad for behaving so snippily towards people she knew were only trying to help, but there was no way they could even _begin_ to understand the depths of what she was going through.  …No one could.

She makes her way towards the bow, nearing the barrier again as she draws out the memoirs once more.  Remarkably, she had never run into that woman again after that, though she had searched every inch of the ship high and low.  It was like she completely disappeared, as if she really _were_ a ghost…

Just then, another briny breeze picks up without warning, this time the gust being strong enough to loosen the flimsy films from her fingers.  She panics as the whirling wind carries them all the way across the deckside, about to fly over starboard and into the drink when a dusky hand suddenly stretches out over the opposite fence, managing to snag one before the other is unfortunately lost to Davy Jones’s locker.

“This yours, Miss?  Sorry, I was only able to save one of them…”

The young man pivots as Barbara dashes up to him, scrubbing his neck sheepishly as he proffers the single pic back to her.

“…It’s all right, thank you.”

She looks down to find it was Dick’s souvenir that was salvaged, and isn’t quite sure how to feel, hands hesitating to take it back.  …For some reason, the Samaritan seems even more insecure as he watches her stare blankly at the still.

“So, uh, I take it this is your boyfriend?  I don’t suppose he’s around…?”

His ebony pupils flick about anxiously, but Barbara shakes her head, resolutely receiving the baggage back.

“We broke up a long time ago.”

“Oh.  I see.”

He shuffles uneasily as the awkwardness steadily increases between them, but thankfully the uncomfortable silence was then disrupted by Reece’s singsong voice:

“Babs!   _There_ you are.  Listen, I’m sorry for being pushy earlier, I just figured…”

He pauses upon noticing her company.

“ _Sam?_  What are you doing here?”

“Reece?”

Barbara blinks in simultaneous surprise, swapping back and forth between them.

“You two know each other?”

Reece beams as he envelops a locking limb around the other’s shoulders, eager to introduce.

“Babs, you remember I told you I had a cousin who’s a defense attorney?”  He lifts the back of a hand against his chin to block the “victim’s” view as he bends slyly towards her, waggling his brows.  “And that he’s _single_?”

“Reece!”

Although barely able to tell by his brown complexion, the hostage begins to blush furiously.  Barbara amazes as she takes in his sable skin tone and smooth, close-shaved haircut, contrasting to Reece’s clearly fake spray-tan and (almost blindingly) bleached blond bangs.

“You two are related?”

“Yeah.  So?”  Reece grins, feigning obliviousness but quite obviously cognizant of the unlikelihood, nevertheless awaiting an opportunity to rib about being “from the ‘hood”.

“N- nothing.”

Reece purses his lips in displeasure at being denied his fun at a family member’s expense, but relents.

“Well, we’re more like fifth cousins, twice removed or something like that.  Close enough.”  He shrugs.  “Anyway, what are you doing here, man? You should’ve told me you were coming on the same cruise.  I’m surprised you’re even into this kind of thing, you’re always so caught up in your work.  Just like Ms. _Bibliophile_ over here.”

He jerks a thumb at Barbara as she rolls her eyes, and Sam smiles apologetically on his distant brethren’s behalf.

“I got dragged along by some colleagues.  They said it was a ‘business trip’, but really it’s just a chance for Gotham’s politicians and elite socialites to _bribe_ their way out of jail by offering an all-expense paid vacation to court officials.”  He shakes his head in disgust.  “I couldn’t take all the ass-kissing anymore, so I came out here to get some fresh air.  I mean, I studied law in order to _uphold_ it, not bend over backwards so someone else can bend the rules.”

Barbara inspects him intently, intrigued by his level of honor and integrity.  He catches her eye, and embarrasses again over his open admission.

“Sorry, where are my manners.  We haven’t even been properly introduced yet.”  He amiably holds out his hand.  “Sam Young, new assistant district attorney at the D.A.’s office.”

Barbara smiles as she reciprocates the gesture.

“Barbara Gordon.”

Sam stuns as he shakes her palm, taken aback by both her title and the strength in her grasp.

“‘Gordon’?  You wouldn’t be related to Police Commissioner _James_ Gordon, would you?”

“He’s my father.”

He brightens visibly in awe.

“Your dad’s a personal hero of mine.  He’s an upstanding officer.  If I had more guts, I would’ve wanted to try pursuing a police career myself…”

“I’m actually working to become one as well.”

“I- is that so…?”

He looks appropriately impressed, although it’s evident his individual pride is perhaps a bit privately humiliated by the notion.  She smiles encouragingly to console his bruised ego.

“Not everyone can be a cop.  Besides, I think defending the innocent is a noble cause in itself.  Justice isn’t just about punishing criminals, you know.”

“True, although with the current amount of corruption in Gotham’s legal system, it’s a challenge to make the right call either way.”  He exhales in exhaustion.  “Sometimes I wonder if I really made the correct choice, whether it’s _worth_ it to fight all the felonies and inherent flaws in this city’s societal structure…”

Barbara shrugs weakly.

“Hey, it’s home.  If we don’t fight for it, then who will?”

The third party (whom they’d almost forgotten was present) jovially interjects:

“The Batman would, _duh_.”

Barbara shoots a sharp dagger at Reece, who holds up his palms in defeat.

“Sorry, forgot you have a whole _‘thing’_ about bringing him up in conversation.  Though I have no idea _why_.”  He coughs.  “Anyway, since you two seem to be hitting it off so well, I’m just gonna scoot back to the pool to check out that hottie I spotted earlier.  You guys have fun~”

With that, he winks and scuttles off, leaving the deserted duo to their devices.  They face each other fretfully, fidgeting feet.  Sam swallows, before bracing himself first:

“Would you… like to maybe…?”

Barbara knows where this is leading, and grudgingly hoists her hand before he can finish.

“Listen, you seem like a nice guy, and I honestly think you’re pretty cute – but I… sorta ‘recently’ got out of a bad relationship – two of them in quick succession – and I just don’t think I’m ready for this kind of thing just yet.  …I hope you understand.”

His countenance’s crest falls at such rapid rejection, but nods sensitively.

“Sorry.  …I suppose you want to be left alone then?”

Barbara wavers, feeling conflicted in all sorts of ways, but finally agrees to allow (herself) at least a tiny ray of hope.

“Look, I’m not saying ‘no’ as in ‘never’, I just… need some time to sort things out.  Maybe we could start small, ease into it a bit?”

He perks up at the potential proposition.

“Then, you’ll let me buy you a drink sometime?  Just one, I promise.  It doesn’t have to be more than that.  I mean, unless you’d prefer coffee or something…”

He stammers and stumbles over his words, and Barbara can’t help but smile at how shy and clumsy his courtship is compared to Dick’s cool conduct – debonair demeanor combined with childish charm – or Bruce’s often complete lack of communication altogether.  The so-called _“strong, silent type”_.  …It’s refreshing, to be swayed by sheer sincerity for once rather than polished suaveness or – literally – sweeping off one’s feet.

“…I’d like that.”

“Great.  Guess I’ll… hopefully see you around then?”

“Sure.  And…  Just to make it easier for you, so you’re not stuck looking for me everywhere, you’d better take this.”

She produces a pen and spare slip of paper to jot down her phone number, passing on to him with a wink.

“Trust me, it’s a large ship.  It’s easy to lose track of someone on it.”

He keenly collects the coupon, admiring it as if in astonishment at his own ease of accomplishment.

“I’ll give you a call later then.  …Er, that is – if it’s okay with you.”

“I already gave you the number,” she giggles.  “I’m pretty sure that means you have permission to call me.”

He reddens again, scratching his cheek.

“R- right!  I definitely will then.”

He bids a bungling farewell before beating a hurried retreat, nearly tripping over himself in the process.  Barbara watches him go with a stifled smile, before resuming attentiveness to the final remnant of her former “rapport” – the last link to an entire _life_ that now feels so long ago.

…She wonders, if she had gone with Dick to Blüdhaven, if things might have turned out differently – for both of them.  Would they be living a life of happiness – _together_ – right now?  Would none of this – Arkham, Bruce, the baby – ever have happened?  “Batman and Robin” might even still be a team without her…  While “Batgirl and Nightwing” became another – _better_ Dynamic Duo.  Maybe even be getting married and having a little one of their own…

She can feel teardrops threatening to fall again, and shakes her head.  Reece was right.  The past is the past, and there’s no use dwelling on it anymore.  …She thinks as she inhales deeply, and rips the remainder in half – as well as a couple more times for good measure – letting the scraps scatter to the stream.

As she watches the fragments of her broken heart flutter away, she props against the bars again, thinking about how Dick had gone on a long journey away from Gotham to clear his own head.  Imagining what his thoughts might’ve been as he surveyed the same scenery, seeing the city of Gotham look so _small_ from afar.  She had thought him a fool for “running away” back then rather than _confronting_ his problems…  But now she thinks she’s beginning to understand.

Sometimes, a little distance is what one needs to put things in perspective.

_“Every experience changes us.  Makes us different.  When we gain perspective we **change** perspective._

_Maybe we could both stand a bit of that.”_

But, she wasn’t alone on this journey.  Not like Dick, and certainly not like Bruce.  …She didn’t _have_ to be.  And neither did they.  (…But that’s not her place to arbitrate anymore.)

Before turning away from the tide, she makes one last prayer – a toast – to time, and to a _second chance_ – at starting it all over again:

“Here’s to new beginnings.”

**Author's Note:**

> For anyone who's wondering, Reece is an original character from TKJ film. Incidentally, I noticed that in the comic the woman who found Barbara after she got shot was named "Colleen Reece", whereas her name was changed in the movie to "Colleen Miles". So they took half of an offscreen female character... and turned her into a fabulous gay guy. o.O; (Not that I'm complaining. He was easily the best thing to come out of the film.)
> 
> ...This also gives the line about Babs liking "darker men" a whole new meaning. *shot repeatedly*


End file.
